the other side of the selection, and broke most of his trace-chains trying to get them out by horse-power―for they had other roots going down from underneath. He cleared a patch in the course of time and for several seasons he broke more plough-shares than he could pay for.
Meanwhile the squatter was not idle. Tom's tent was robbed several times, and his hut burnt down twice. Then he was charged with killing some sheep and a steer on the run, and converting them to his own use, but got off mainly because there was a difference of opinion between the squatter and the other local J.P. concerning politics and religion.
Tom ploughed and sowed wheat, but nothing came up to speak of―the ground was too poor; so he carted stable manure six miles from the nearest town, manured the land, sowed another crop, and prayed for rain. It came. It raised a flood which washed the crop clean off the selection, together with several acres of manure, and a considerable portion of the original surface soil; and the water brought down enough sand to make a beach, and spread it over the field to a depth of six inches. The flood also took half a mile of fencing from along the creek bank, and landed it in a bend, three miles down, on a dummy selection, where it was confiscated.
Tom didn't give up he was energetic. He cleared another piece of ground on the siding, and sowed more wheat; it had the rust in it, or the smut and averaged three shillings per bushel. Then he sowed lucerne and oats, and bought a few cows: he had an idea of starting a dairy. First, the cows' eyes got
